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Updated: October 22, 2025
The poetry reading and the long, long talks went on every day, and Rose's heart was hopelessly and forever gone. She knew nothing more of Mr. Reinecourt than that he was Mr. Reinecourt; still, she hardly cared to know. She was in love, and an idiot; to-day sufficed for her to-morrow might take care of itself. "Rose, chérie," Mr.
"Deceive you, my darling! How did I deceive you? Tell me, Rose, and don't cry!" "You said you said your name was Reinecourt, and it wasn't; and I didn't know you were Kate's lover, or I never would have would have oh! how could you do it?" "My dear little girl, I told you the truth. My name is Reinecourt." Rose looked up indignantly.
I would have told him if Kate had not been there; but it was impossible, and I had to prevaricate. This morning has brought no news; the suspense is horrible. Heaven help Kate! I can write no more. Your affectionate sister, Grace Danton Quebec, May 17. Dear Lauderdale: The deed is done, the game is up, the play is played out Reginald Reinecourt Stanford is a married man.
And presently they drifted off into delicious talk of poetry and romance; and Rose, pulling out her watch, was horrified to find that it was two o'clock. "I must go!" she cried, springing up; "what will they think has become of me?" "But you will come again to-morrow?" pleaded Mr. Reinecourt. "I don't know you don't deserve it, keeping me here until this hour. Perhaps I may, though good-bye."
Three weeks had passed since that January day when Regina had slipped on the ice, and still Mr. Reinecourt was disabled; at least he was when Rose was there. He had dropped the Miss Danton and taken to calling her Rose, of late; but when she was gone, it was really surprising how well he could walk, and without the aid of a stick. Old Jacques grinned knowingly.
"Not from you, my dear little Rose. To-morrow you will know all where I am going, and who I am." "Who you are! Are you not Mr. Reinecourt?" "Certainly!" half laughing. "But that is rather barren information, is it not? Can you wait until to-morrow?" His smile, the clasp in which he held her hand, reassured her. "Oh, yes," she said, drawing a long breath, "I can wait!"
"Very well; now let me go." He released her plump little hand, and Rose drew on her gloves. "Adieu, Mr. Reinecourt," moving to the door. "Au revoir, Miss Danton, until to-morrow morning." Rose rode home in delight. In one instant the world had changed. St. Croix had become a paradise, and the keen air sweet as "Ceylon's spicy breezes."
A la princesse she sailed in, and saw the late M. Reinecourt seated by the window, Kate beside him, with, oh, such a happy face! She arose at her sister's entrance, a smile of infinite content on her face. "Reginald, my sister Rose. Rose, Mr. Stanford." Rose made the most graceful bow that ever was seen, not the faintest sign of recognition in her face. She hardly glanced at Mr.
There is a place called Danton Hall over here a fine old place, they tell me owned by one Captain Danton." "I am Captain Danton's second daughter." "Then, Miss Danton, I am very happy to make your acquaintance." He held out his hand, gravely. Rose shook hands, laughing and blushing. "I am much pleased to make yours, Mr. " laughing still, and looking at him. "Reinecourt," said the gentleman. "Mr.
Rose's heart beat in great plunges against her side, but she restrained herself and waited. Ten minutes, and there was the rustle of a dress; Kate entered the room. The gentleman arose, there was a cry of "Reginald!" and then Kate was clasped in the stranger's arms. Rose could see his face now; no need to look twice to recognize Mr. Reinecourt.
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